Between Never and Forever by Brit Benson

22

“Alright,let’s take two hours for lunch, and then we’ll try to get the next one in before the sun goes down.”

My director, Karen Evans, addresses us from where she stands next to one of the large cameras. She’s reading something on a tablet with a furrowed brow, and her long gray hair is currently piled on top of her head in a bun. She’s given me direction and encouragement all day, but I can’t help but feel like I’ve disappointed her.

I’ve been fascinated by Karen since I took this role and did an internet search deep dive on her credentials. At fifty-one, she’s one of the most decorated and respected directors in Hollywood. Her very first film cost four grand to make, was twelve-minutes long, and took home a special jury award at Sundance. She was twenty-eight.

I freaking love her. Half the reason I’m trying so hard to get this right is because I don’t want to fuck up royally in front of Karen Evans. I’m in the presence of greatness, so I need to step my shit up.

As if summoned, Dakota pulls up in her golf cart and waves me over. Red took Ziggs back to the trailer a few hours ago, so he’s nowhere to be seen. I take one last glance at Karen, then head to my awaiting escort.

“Word on the set is that you don’t suck,” Dakota says as I plop into the passenger seat. I perk up immediately.

“Says who?”

“Some of the other production assistants, one of the sound guys, and basically every extra.”

I glance over my shoulder. There are about fifty people being used as extras right now. I haven’t spoken to any of them, and they haven’t spoken to me. They’ve been watching me, though.

“Are they credible?” I ask suspiciously, and Dakota laughs.

“The extras might be a little starstruck, but the people who work on set are very credible. To them, you’re just another actress. If anything, they’re more critical. A little jaded, even. The fact that you’ve gotten good reviews after your first scene? That’s pretty good.”

I heave a sigh of relief and send her a smile.

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Sure thing,” she chirps, then smirks. “Don’t get comfortable and start slacking, though. Their good favor is easily lost.”

I smile and nod. “Noted.”

When my trailer comes into view, I can see Red standing outside the door, arms crossed and Ziggy at his feet. His sunglasses are on, and he’s as still as a statue. Very intimidating.

“Does he talk?” Dakota asks.

“Sometimes,” I say wryly. “Usually, it’s to tell me off for doing something dumb.”

She hums, and I notice the golf cart slows down, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Red.

“How old is he, exactly?”

I side-eye her. “Why?”

She shrugs with a smirk. “Got a personal policy not to sleep with anyone my dad’s age or older.”

“How old’s your dad?” I ask with a laugh.

“Fifty-two.”

“You’re in the clear.” My voice is lowered to a whisper as we pull up to the trailer, but then I raise it when I address Red. “Hey Red, how old are you?”

I see one dark eyebrow rise up behind his mirrored sunglasses.

“You know how old I am,” he deadpans.

“Humor me.”

“Forty-five.”

I smile, darting my eyes from Red to Dakota and back. “Thanks.”

I slide out of the passenger seat and Dakota tells me she’ll be back in exactly one hour and fifty-three minutes before zooming off on her golf cart to do whatever it is that she does when she’s not chauffeuring me around. I bend down and give Ziggs some love as she does her little excited body wag, then head into my new trailer.

There’s a plastic tray on the counter that Red tells me was delivered a few minutes before I arrived, and I pop it open to find some delicious looking club sandwiches, chips, and more fruit. I throw myself down onto one of the barstools, snag half a sandwich, and take a bite.

“How were your first six hours of being an actress?” Red asks as I slide him the tray to grab his own sandwich.

“Fine,” I say as I chew. I think it over and swallow before adding, “Dakota says people don’t think I suck.”

Red grunts and nods. It’s about as much of a compliment as I’m used to from him.

I open my mouth to ask him if he wants to run lines with me, even though I have them memorized to the point of saying them in my dreams, when there’s a knock at my door. Red turns and opens it, then uses his deep, intimidating voice to greet the visitor.

“Can I help you?” he grunts out, and I stifle a laugh.

I expect to hear Dakota’s voice, or maybe Tatum or Pax, since I was told they’d want to touch up my hair and makeup before we start filming again, but instead, I’m shocked mid-chew by a new but familiar voice.

Brynnlee’s voice.

“Hello, sir. I’d like to speak with Sav Loveless, please.”

My lips twitch with amusement at just how grown she sounds. Like a little thirty-year-old woman in a seven-(and three-quarters)-year-old’s body. I can’t see her, but I can picture her. I bet she’s standing just as tall and fearless as ever.

“What do you need with Ms. Loveless?” Red booms, and I giggle into my sandwich.

His posture is just as rigid as it always is, and I bet there’s not even a hint of a smile on his lips, but I can hear the humor in his voice.

“I would like to ask her to autograph my magazine,” Brynn states. “I brought a pen with me this time.”

Shit, that’s right. The magazine.

I put my sandwich on the counter and push myself to standing, then walk to the door and tap Red’s shoulder so he steps out of my way. When Brynn sees me, she beams and clutches the magazine to her chest. It’s the same excited smile she gave me in the café a few days ago, and it relaxes my nerves even as I glance past her in search of her dad.

I don’t see Levi anywhere, but there’s a guy in a golf cart watching us nervously. I nod in his direction, then focus back on Brynn.

“What’s up, Boss?” I throw my hand out so she can slap me a low five. “What are you doing here?”

“You forgot to sign this,” she says, then holds out the magazine. I take it and the pen. “My dad said you could sign it today.”

I raise a brow. “He did?”

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you to bring it to me?” I ask slowly, and she shrugs.

“No. He was supposed to bring it with him this morning, but he forgot.” She flings her hand behind her and gestures to the guy in the golf cart. “So, I had Dustin bring me.”

Bring it with him this morning.

See you Monday.

I feel like there’s a realization somewhere just out of reach. I’m fumbling around for it, but my fingertips just brush right past it.

I glance once more at the guy Brynn called Dustin. His back is ramrod straight now and his eyebrows are furrowed, like he never questioned her until this moment. She told him to bring her to the studio, and he just...did. I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow, and he purses his lips before speaking.

“Is this, uh, okay?”

The uncertainty in his voice makes me laugh out loud.

“You’re asking now?” I ask incredulously, then glance down at Brynn. “You just told this poor guy to bring you by my trailer and he did, huh? No questions asked?”

She grins again, and this time it’s impish and familiar in a way that I find unsettling.

“Told ya before,” she says. “I’m the boss.”

I return her smile, once again looking her over in search of some resemblance to Levi. They have the same nose. The shape of their faces is the same. Her hair and eyes aren’t him, but her mouth could be. Her sass, though? That is something else entirely. I bet he doesn’t know what to do with her half the time, and it makes me giddy.

Conflicting thoughts war inside my head. For reasons I’m too ashamed to say out loud, I don’t want to like this girl. Part of me already doesn’t. Never did. But another part of me, an annoyingly loud part, wants her to like me, and I don’t know how to reconcile the two.

Levi’s deep, menacing voice replays in my ears and I grit my teeth. Stay away from my daughter. I don’t want reality to ruin the image she has in her head. Even as a memory, the statements still sting.

What a complete and utter asshole.

“Is your dad here now?”

“Yeah, somewhere. He’s one of the builders,” she chatters proudly. “His guys built all the sets for your movie. One of ‘em even looks just like our kitchen.”

His guys. It’s all starting to make sense now. I look back at Dustin.

“You gonna get fired, Dusty?”

His eyes flare wide and he looks from me, to Brynn, then in the direction of the back lot. His reaction all but confirms it for me. Levi Cooper is Dustin’s boss. Levi Cooper owns the company that has built all the sets for my movie. Levi Cooper is the guy Dakota was talking about—good guy, not very friendly, big...hammer.

A very big hammer, if I remember correctly.

“Dad won’t fire you, Dustin,” Brynn says with an exasperated sigh, then rolls her eyes. “Don’t look so scared.”

I bite back another laugh. Damn it, I like this kid.

And since she’s already here...

“Hey, Dusty,” I call out, “how about you head back to work and let her dad know we’re right behind you. I’m just going to sign this magazine for her.”

“Uh, um, I can wait,” Dustin says, uncertainty lacing his every syllable.

He knows he fucked up now, but what’s he expect? Taking blind orders from a sassy seven-year-old. I bet she really is smarter than her dad. I bet she’s smarter than a lot of people, Dustin definitely included.

I give him a suggestive smile, bat my eyelashes a little, and drop my voice a bit.

“It’s okay, Dusty. You did great bringing her here. We’ll be right behind you.”

He blinks at me a few times, jerks his head in a nod, then looks at Brynn.

“Right behind me, okay, Boss?”

Brynn salutes him, and I can’t hold back my laugh. I don’t wait for old Rusty Dusty to drive away. Instead, I move to the side and gesture Brynn into the trailer.

“C’mon on in here, ya little troublemaker.”

She just smirks and skips inside, then I turn to Red.

“Hey, text Dakota and tell her I need a golf cart, will ya?”

He eyes me suspiciously. “What are you up to, kid?”

I shrug.

“Just having a little fun, Red. Don’t be a fun sucker, okay?”

From inside the trailer, I hear a bark that sounds like it came from my very excitable, rude dog, then a grunt followed by giggles that sound like they came from a sassy seven-and-three-quarters-year-old. I rush inside and find Brynn on the floor with Ziggy lick attacking her.

“Ziggy Lou Stardust, get off,” I command, but she ignores me like a jerk.

“It’s okay,” Brynn says through giggles, “I like dogs.”

I watch them for a few seconds, and when Ziggs starts to chill a little, I walk to the counter and flip through Brynn’s magazine, finding the article on my band to sign. Red walks back inside, sliding his phone into his pocket, and gives me a scolding look. I narrow my eyes at him and resist the urge to stick my tongue out.

Fun sucker,I mouth. He just shakes his head.

“Whoa,” Brynn says, and when I look up from finishing the final S in my name, I find Brynn staring at my acoustic in the corner.

My signature white custom Gibson is locked in a closet back at the rental, but the beat up acoustic in the corner has been with me since the beginning.

“Is this the guitar you debuted ‘Just One More’ on at your show in D.C.?”

My jaw drops and I flick my eyes to Red. He’s eating his club sandwich, but has stopped mid-chew, just as shocked as I am.

“Yep.”

That’s all I can say. Yep. This kid was barely a toddler when we played that show. Plus, she said debuted. I don’t if I’m more impressed or flattered.

I watch as she reaches her hand out and hovers it over the strings, but never touches them. Like it’s something holy, and that gets me. To me, it is holy. It’s the closest to church I’ve ever gotten. That guitar.

I walk over and stand next to her.

“You know how to play?” I ask, and she shakes her head, glancing from the guitar to me and back. “You should learn.”

She whips her eyes to mine and her question comes out so rushed that it sounds like one big word.

“Canyouteachme?”

My eyes widen with surprise. Well. I wasn’t expecting that.

“Dunno, Boss,” I hedge. “You’ll have to talk to your dad about that one.”

“If he says yes, will you teach me?”

I agree immediately. I don’t even think it through. I recognize that desire, that pull to play. Something tells me she might need it just as much as I do, but for different reasons.

She squeals and claps her hands, and then I hand her back the now-autographed magazine.

“Let’s jet before your dad blows a fuse.”